SoloWalk2024

The one in the white shirt, the Favourite-Son-Who-Lives-in-Australia….we took him to the airport at 5 this morning and it felt like my trip was finally over. Since arriving home I’ve been living in a liminal place – home, but not quite back to regular life while he was still visiting.

One of his first observations – about half an hour after I got back – was

Mum, there are two types of people. Those who come home from a trip and sit down and relax and don’t unpack their bags for a week…and then there’s you.

It is true, I was already rejuvenating my sourdough starter, having pulled a black nightshade plant out of the garden on the way into the house and having closed all the kitchen cupboard doors that were open. But look, so worth it:

And not able to wait for the sourdough to bubble, I did this with commercial yeast and flour milled in the Brand New grain mill:

To go with the first of the Spanish cheeses:

That had caused daughter-in-the-black-pants-in-front-of-Australian-brother to ask if it is true that I am passionate about bread baking, but not passionate about cooking. I agreed I am not passionate about cooking, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m passionate about bread baking. I enjoy doing it, and I appreciate eating it, especially the sourdough stuff. She muttered something about “because you’re passionate about it”…maybe I am!

Loving the laden lemon tree. Might even prompt me to do some cooking 😉

Speaking of loving….

• I’m loving The Quiet – I could not get over how quiet it was at night. Not just no snorers in the room, but no church bells or people walking past on the street or rubbish collectors or donkeys braying….it was absolutely eerily silent
• The birds. Instead of griffin vultures and storks and cuckoos, there are rosellas and tui and fantails

• I’m loving the rhythms
• I’m loving hugs from friends
• Familiar church
• Kids dropping in
• Boys preparing the chickens

• Laughter
• Washing machine
• Big fluffy bath towels
• Rainbows…ok, too many rainbows!

• Picking things from the garden to cook with
• Sharing my room with someone I know instead of strangers
• Clothes that I haven’t worn in months
• Being surrounded by books
• Making plans
• Making marks in a paper Bible and taking notes
• the Lord’s Prayer

I loved being away and I’m loving being home

How great to take a walk with my Best Friend in one of my Favourite Places today.

I think I was extra grateful, because when the plane took off from Madrid, it looked unlikely I was going to make my connection in Istanbul. When these particular flights had been issued to me, I had rung the airline to query the transit time – only an hour and a half each in Istanbul and Hong Kong. I was assured it was plenty. But when we had to sit on the tarmac for an hour past our scheduled take-off time, I started to wonder. The cabin crew attendant thought she was reassuring me when she said, “Don’t worry, it’s not your problem. If you don’t make the connection it’s our problem. We’ll get you on the next available flight.” What she wasn’t considering (understandably!) is that my Favourite Son In Australia was currently not in Oz, but staying at home with us for just a few days. I didn’t want to miss seeing him.

Usually when a plane lands, I let everyone else do the rushing-to-be-first-off thing while I remain relaxed and take my time. Not this time. I had my seatbelt undone before the sign had blinked off, and my pack out of the overhead compartment. The Spanish girl sitting beside me had an even tighter connection time than I did and so she was ready to run too. When we made a move, it started a wave of others doing the same….and then the plane started moving again. OOPS we hadn’t arrived yet, so we sat back down, but not before explaining to those around us that we were trying to make a connection. When we finally did stop, we scurried down the stairs, only to be frustrated at the bottom as we had to wait for the amblers who clearly were in no hurry to fill up the bus that would transport us to the terminal. The two of us stood by the door and were first off – we ran – yes, you read that correctly – I, Rachael, who does not ever run except perhaps in Extreme Emergencies, ran. And not just ran. But ran up the stairs – much faster than the passengers on the escalator. I slowed down by the departures board and was DELIGHTED to discover 1) I needed to go to Gate 2 and 2) I was currently beside Gate 1, so Gate 2 presumably wouldn’t be far away. Still I ran. As I screeched to a stop at the Gate 2 Lounge entry, huffing and puffing, and sweating and probably flushed with adrenaline, the official with a stamp asked, “Are you ok?”

“I will be if you tell me I haven’t missed the flight to Auckland.”

Luckily for me, it had been delayed an hour!

Potentially not so good for the Hong Kong connection, but at least I would be much closer to being home.

Just like in Istanbul, we touched down in HK after boarding for my next flight had already started. On the descent into HK I had had a pretty significant nose bleed, so I’d decided I wouldn’t run….but when I saw there were 530 gates I changed my mind! This time I didn’t just slow at the departures board, but came to a complete stop. It was all in Chinese. Hmm. Look around for an English board – and boom – it switched to English. Scan scan scan for the right time and location, but before I could see it I heard a guy say to his wife, “Auckland Gate 6”.

I checked, “Are you going to Auckland with Air New Zealand in half an hour?”

“Less,” he replied and we all started running – it was not going to be such a quick run this time as we were starting at Gate 36 – but at least it wasn’t five hundred and something.

This time when we arrived, boarding had already started. Figuring I was safe now that I was at the gate, I whipped my journal out for a final very quick sketch.

Then my row was called and so I had to stop.

Was I ever happy to be on that plane!

Now the only remaining question was whether the Cheese Bag had accompanied me all the way.

But that’s not the end of the story.

It is now 9:42pm and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open, so the last word will go to GraphGuy. While I’d been sitting at Madrid Airport I’d sent him my last data – before I had even boarded my plane, he had sent these:

^^ En route to the supermarket to buy a couple of extra tetilla cheeses Just In Case the Big Cheese Bag is MIA!

^^ I’m ten minutes before opening time and so start a quick sketch.

^^ En route to the bus stop, where I sit for ten minutes, pleased that I found the right one without even looking – there it was right there with the Airport Express timetable on the shelter wall.

I take photos ^^ and then realise this is the stop I got off at two nights ago, which means it is not the right one after all. I go looking. And ask a couple of people, because asking is often quicker than fumbling about on your own.

The right stop is right in front of this magnificent building ^^, the one I had just photographed from across the roundabout. I only have to wait two minutes and the bus appears.

At the airport I take my own advice and decide to ASK where I can find my bag that arrived two days ago. The señora tells me to go to the arrivals hall where I had come from without the Big Bag barely a day and a half ago through the door that says “Authorised access only”. I figure she has authorised me. The security man on the other side disagrees. I wonder about playing the dumb English-only-speaking tourist, but decide he might consider my plight more favourably if I explain my case in Spanish. It works.

It is a few minutes before ten and I am in the queue at the Iberia desk. Behind me a woman cries “Es mío” and pushes past me to claim the lilac handbag that has just been retrieved from behind a wall. I hope I’ll be so lucky.

“I’m looking for my bag that didn’t arrive two days ago.” (I’m still going for the *speak Spanish* approach)

I show the bearded official my case number and he assures me I’m in the right place. Good start.

He apologises for the delay while he searches the computer system.

Then the news is good – he’s found it….before it turns bad – it’s a very big warehouse that all the bags are kept in and they will be closing from 10-1 and so they might not be able to find it…that’s what I think he’s told me, but the timeframe is pretty tight if I’ve misunderstood, so I ask if he speaks English and get him to confirm my understanding. Yep, it’s as bad as it sounds.

“I need to be at T1 by 2o’clock. Now I’m a bit worried.”

“I would be too. I’ll ring them, but we only have a few minutes.”

It’s not looking good. We start discussing my flight time and concocting a plan…when his phone rings. He smiles at me and thanks the person on the other end. It’s been found and will pop out on Carousel 6.

And indeed it did ^^
Right at that moment I was on a call to family at home and I ditched them in favour of taking a snap and rescuing the bag.

Actually two guys heaved it off the belt for me as it moved away. In spite of being taped, the zip was broken and open, but it didn’t look like anything had escaped. When I returned to the Bearded Official to sign his form saying the case was closed, I asked where I could buy some more tape. His colleague handed me some, saying it is not the best!

But it is far better than nothing.
Seeing as the bag was open, I snaffled a couple of things I wanted and stuffed my stinky sandshoes inside. So glad to not be wearing them – and my fellow passengers would be grateful if they knew from what fate they have been saved!

I thought I was done. All I had to do was walk back out through those doors and hop on the shuttle bus to Terminal One.

Except another security guard stopped me. He inspected the tag on my bag and pointed out quite correctly that it was not a current flight. I explained my bag had not arrived two days ago, looked pathetic and he let me through.

Now it was just a matter of sitting here ^^ and waiting for the check-in desk details to appear on the board.
Except it wasn’t. After a couple of hours three men in high visibility vests came along and said they needed to move the bank of seats. I thought I had misunderstood. But it turned out I hadn’t.

Mr Yellow Suitcase and I looked on…and then took the two free seats at the end of the next bench.

For a few minutes.

The three high vis vests returned and we realised they wanted more than one bank of seats. They may well have thought we were stupid, because they made sure we wouldn’t sit on the next one:

They actually had a very good reason for moving them – they were right next to the main doors and were preventing flow of foot traffic. Who knows how long the situation had been this way, but it made sense to move them.
Mr Yellow Suitcase and I repositioned ourselves elsewhere – and only minutes later had a giggle together as a traveller plonked himself down in the newly-vacated space. I’d have taken a photo, but it would have felt like an invasion of his privacy. During the Seat Moving Incident, half a dozen people had gone running past at speed, completely frazzled, wheelie suitcases almost flying behind them. This guy was the last of the group, lagging a bit behind, and judging by his body language now – flinging himself to the floor, throwing his jacket on the ground, stomping his foot, grabbing his phone, then holding his head in his hands and starting to sob (anger to disappointment in three seconds) – I’m guessing he had just missed his flight. I wondered what else this more-than-six-foot-tall young man was missing…his grandma’s funeral?his sister’s wedding? euros in his bank account that he could ill afford to lose? Whatever it was, he was deeply affected and I whispered a prayer for him as he picked himself up and walked out the glass doors.

Having tried – unsuccessfully – to get Iberia Airlines to EITHER move my CheeseBag on to New Zealand ASAP OR to send it to me at the hostel today (so that I could refreeze the slicker pads and refrigerate the cheese), I knew that tomorrow would have to be dedicated to going to the airport well ahead of my flight time to try to track down said bag, so that made today my only day for Madrid.

What to do? There’s so much to do and see in Madrid.

I decided to just wander and see where I ended up.

It’s 2:30, it’s incredibly hot and I’m suddenly weary, so I head back to the hostel for a nap. I figure it’s sleep time in NZ!

Just before 6 I remember free entry to the Prado Museum from 6-8, and I’m not far away, so I hoof it down there and join the eternal queue.

Against the backdrop of the ubiquitous call for “No photos”, I feel a bit naughty. But I have seen the two pictures I wanted to and then I wander, looking, wondering if I might find a new favourite picture. I do, Velazquez’s The Spinners. This time I don’t take a photo.

After about an hour I hear what sounds like thunderclaps. And then some more.

It might still be 31 degrees, but there’s a spectacular celestial show unfolding. A few enormous raindrops come to nothing and a fine mist sprays from the sky.

I keep walking in the hope that it will stop.

Turns out the “narrow street” I walked up in the early hours of this morning WAS actually quite narrow…

…and the street where I’m staying is even narrower…

…and they both look more friendly in daylight!

16km

I’d have been sending GraphGuy my final statistics tomorrow once I’d got on the plane, but the paper where the previous ones are recorded is in the CheeseBag, which I will not be opening until we are both at home!

Last sleep…

It was never going to be an early night, but I had no idea it would be 3am before I took the pillow and sheet out of my locker and tossed them towards the top bunk, took my shoes and socks off and climbed up feeling hot and sticky and dirty and wanting to brush my teeth, but wanting more not to disturb the gals I was sharing a room with – and the sink is right there in the room.

The flight was supposed to leave at 9:45pm, but the plane didn’t arrive until just after that. It was an impressively quick turnaround and we were taxiing down the runway only 50 minutes late. Clearly we were not going to arrive by 11pm. But we were back on the ground at 11:38.

An hour later everyone is waiting at Baggage Carousel 10, which has still not started moving. A uniformed Iberian Airlines representative appears carrying a stack of pink forms. Complaints Forms. There is not going to be action for at least another twenty minutes. People take the forms and start scribbling. A group gathers around the official, it swells to about thirty people, looking more like a mob and starting to act like one. I wander over out of interest. One young man quietens the crowd and speaks on their behalf. A complaints form is not a solution. We need to know we will be compensated for our inconvenience. How can we fly to our next destination with no bag and no guarantee when it will arrive? I understand you can’t promise us anything and so could we please speak to your supervisor.

Agitation increases, everyone starts talking at once again and Official Representative offers Lost Luggage forms to those who cannot wait.

Here is my moment of salvation. I cannot – in good conscience – fill out a complaints form, but I will happily fill out a form saying my bag has not arrived – just like when I arrived in Madrid ten weeks ago! And I will leave the airport with just a backpack and bumbag.

I will not have to follow GraphGuy’s suggestion:

I look forward to hearing how you somehow encouraged help for the 750 meter cheese and grain mill journey 😂. There was this old guy on a motorized scooter who seemed a bit bored…scooter had a basket so I pretended to faint …

But before I get to that point, there’s a bus to catch. I ask a security guard where to go and follow his directions as if I’m on autopilot. A few minutes later he swings by and assures me I’m at the right bus stop. The sign is saying +20 so I ask if the bus will be here in twenty minutes.

Más Señora.

Of course, the plus means more!

Lucky I have already messaged the hostel to say I am still coming, but will not arrive at my expected time. (I had given myself a two hour buffer in case something cropped up, but even that was not enough)

The bus fills up, with lots of people checking it will stop at Cibeles, which gives me confidence I will not be the only one disembarking there.

I need not have worried. The place is fair humming. This is Madrid, even if it is a Monday night/Tuesday morning.

My map directs me down the strip of garden in the middle of the road, but I opt to cross to the busier side of the street where there are many more than just two guys sitting on a park bench.

Then there are no more photos, because I have to turn off the main busy road onto a narrow street that I am telling myself is definitely-wider-than-an-alley, and I feel my heart pounding a bit harder.

Especially when a car with loud music blaring screeches into the street. “Uber” painted on the door, offers some unfounded relief!

Greater relief halfway along the street when three policemen emerge from a building and stand around chatting.

Then I catch up with the Uber car, which has got stuck behind a rubbish truck stopping every few metres for bin emptying (maybe it IS an alley and not a street).

Two corners to go and the first takes me into another busy-ish street. That is to say, if I were out walking at home after 2am and I saw half a dozen people I would consider it to be busy.

One last turn. Into another narrow street. My eyes scan for building numbers or the hostel name. No luck – it’s going to be at the other end. At least there is a doorman standing outside a hotel partway along. Then I spot the sign and when the door buzzes even before I hit the bell I heave a huge sigh of relief.

I’m going to be in bed by 2:30.

Only I’m not.

I’m sent up to floor 3, room 37, bed 1.

Have you ever tried to find a bed in the dark? My eyes adjust to the black and I can make out there are two empty beds. I’m going to have to turn on my torch (carefully covered by my hand to reduce the glow as much as possible) to discover which bed is mine. Hmmm. 6 and 8. Number One is occupied.

I trot back downstairs.

The receptionist is bemused and we go back upstairs for her to verify my story.

We go back downstairs. She promises to find a solution. I suggest taking Bed 6 or 8, but their occupants will be returning at some point. She has no idea who is in Number One.

There is only one option. I’m put in a female-only room with four beds. That sure beats sharing with seven guys.

Finally blue sky and the temperature expected to reach 30 degrees!

And what do I do on this fine day?

Lug around a box full of cheeses and pick up a grain mill that feels like it weighs half a tonne (although in reality it is only 8kg)

A German lady offers to help, but I hadn’t picked up the mill yet so it just looked awkward rather than being ridiculously heavy. A little later a man stops me and insists that I let him help me.

Where are you going?

Casa Manolo.

I don’t know it. Is it far?

No, not far, close to here. On Plaza de Cervantes.

Oh, I know that, I’m going right past there. It will be better if I help you.

He was right, it was so so much better. We fell into step together and I joked we could walk right to the airport…which caused another helpful lady to tell us we were going the wrong way and pointed us to the bus stop for the airport bus! She was right, but I needed to get a stamp from Casa Manolo and pick up a grain mill before I could think about the bus stop.

As we walked we talked about the Camino and memories and eating cheese and remembering. I told My Helper I would remember him – and I surely will, a friendly, helpful, chatty guy, aptly named Salvador (Saviour). The last 500m without his help was much harder!

At the luggage storage place was another friendly chatty guy, a pilgrim, who was looking for ideas of things to do, given that this was his ninth time in Santiago. I suggested he could help me carry an enormous bag to the bus stop – and he did! Thanks Ralph.

Nap time at the airport – do you like my solo traveller security system? If I actually drop off to sleep and someone moves the trolley with the bag on it, the water bottle will drop with a clatter and scare them off and wake me up – genius!

I don’t arrive in Madrid until 11pm – and was meant to be spending a few hours at the airport before flying home in the early morning. Unfortunately Turkish Airlines changed my flights and so now I don’t leave until Wednesday…which will give me plenty of time to lug my Cheese Cargo the 750 meters from the Airport Express bus stop to my hostel. You’ll have to wait for tomorrow’s blogpost to find out how that works out!

Hoping the lethargy was because people had come in at 1am and 4am and had turned lights on and had been drinking too much to think to turn their voices down. Seriously hoping it’s nothing more sinister, especially as it’s just a week since this dude reporting from Santiago on the evening news was mentioning an outbreak of COVID in Galicia. I’ve had a cough and a runny nose for the whole trip, so they are not new symptoms!

Fingers crossed.

I had wondered a week ago as I reached Santiago if I was done with long distance walking. For two days now I have not had a pack on my back and when I put it on this afternoon to go to my new accommodation for the last two nights before heading to Madrid, and when I took the first few steps along the path, it felt right, comfortable, enjoyable. It probably helped that the bag was light (no extra food or water), the sun was finally shining and the air did not have the slightest chill to it. I think I head home motivated to get the right Achilles strengthened so that it CAN manage long distances. I head home motivated to keep learning Spanish and to continue a daily drawing practice. And if there’s another Camino in the future I won’t be bringing cross stitch!

That said, I don’t regret bringing it; I just discovered knitting is better, because you can do it AND look at people at the same time.

Speaking of cross stitch, I took it for a wee walk to the cathedral today. I didn’t like my chances of getting a photo in front of the cathedral on such a busy Saturday afternoon, so I stopped at the back:

But ever the optimist, I tried smack bang in front of the cathedral too. I set it up and then waited, crouched on the ground a few metres away for a woman in high heels, jeans and a white leather jacket, who obviously thought standing in the prime position on the square was the ideal spot to have a five minute phone call!! Eventually she shuffled sideways.

I then wrote this blog post while listening to these guys:

I was so taken with their repertoire that I went down to where they were so I could try drawing them in my journal (I’m particularly scared of doing people and really don’t know where to start, but I figure practice can’t hurt). I was enjoying it so much I did an extra picture in my spare notebook.

After a while one of them noticed what I was doing and asked for a photo when I was done. I asked them to autograph the page!

If you look very closely, you’ll see Lino drew and arrow straight at his derrière. When he had looked at the picture – just like all the others – he looked for himself, and then chuckled in perfect English, “Oh thanks, you drew my fat ass!” His arrow was very particular!

As I wandered around the streets, somewhat aimlessly, but taking alleys I’ve not walked before, I realised I was needing a rest these last few days (which I have had), and that now I am ready to be more inquisitive again!

If you’ve read this blog and recognise the little sketch up there from a past post, you can say you knew me before I went viral!

Hello Rachael:

This is Lucía from Orquesta Sinfónica de Galicia, I’m in charge of OSG’S Social Media , we just receive your mail and draw and since today is the European Music Day we will like to publish  the draw.

Please let me know if it’s ok with you.

Do you have an instagram account so I can tag you.

Thank you so much for your kind words and your draw.

All the best

Lucia

Obviously I said it was fine.

And the General Manager of the orchestra has invited me to attend a concert in A Coruña if I’m ever there.

In other big news….

Walk into bar

Me: Hola, buenos días

Señora behind counter: Hola

Señor behind counter: Buenos

Other customers: various greetings

{gotta love that about Spain – everybody greets everyone}

Señor behind counter: Dime

[this is two-syllable word dee-meh, literally meaning “tell me”, which is a handy shorthand for “how can I help you?”]

Me: ¿Puede ayudarme? Busco una caja de poliestireno. Quiero tomar quesos de Galicia a Nueva Zelanda. [what I hope I was saying is: Can you help me? I’m looking for a polystyrene box. I want to take cheeses from Galicia to New Zealand]

Señor: Klaro. ¿Quiere una grande o pequeña?

Me: (with appropriate hand gestures) Pequeña, no más grande.

Señor leaves the bar, opens an outdoor cupboard, reaches inside and holds up a box: ¿Como esta?

Me: Exactamente – perfecto – genial. ¿Cuánto cuesta?

Man: ¡Tómala! Es para ti.

[which made me so happy – not that he told me to take it, or even that it was free, but that he didn’t use the formal form, which always makes me feel old!]

Me: Muchas gracias. Estoy tan feliz.

Señor: De nada, a ti.

Señor went back to work chatting with a customer sitting at an outside table and I snapped a photo for the blog – and thanked the half dozen people just to the right, who didn’t step into the picture!

This was not the first place I had asked for a polystyrene box (and in the interests of full disclosure, I had to look up the word for polystyrene). There is a swanky hotel nearby where I’m staying and I thought their kitchen might have some floating around, so I had gone in wearing my slides and toe socks and looking very Out Of Place next to the ladies with handbags on gold chains and sparkly jewellery.

No luck there, but the helpful suggestion to try the street where I had success.

Now I just have to fill it with cheese.

In the late afternoon I had had enough sitting – I had got my finances up to date…

….got my journal so close to caught up that there’s just a little picture to finish while I’m waiting at the airport….and yesterday I had completed the cathedral section of my cross stitch, so I was feeling very relaxed and needed a spot of fresh air. As I walked along the street I heard bagpipes, a snare drum and two tambourines – a group of half a dozen or so was sitting outside a bar, chatting, laughing, drinking and making music. Que guay!! (How cool)

I didn’t feel like going in to the old city and if I’d gone in the other direction I’d have been out of the city, so I wandered to an enormous nearby mall.

I’d forgotten just how huge this one shop is – by the time I’d wandered round half of it and got lost (I had seen some shredded roast chicken, which I decided would go nicely with my salad for dinner, but even though I retraced my steps three times I could not find it – but I did see umbrellas and beds and pool chemicals and lightbulbs and cutlery and prams and clothes and chilly bins and books and electronics as well as every kind of food imagineable….)…I had had enough of “shopping”. It was time to return to the albergue and put the slicker pads in the freezer and use the razor blades I had just bought!! No photos.

The bus goes from Sobrado to Santiago once a day, Monday to Friday at 6:45am. I had toyed with the idea of staying an extra day but it was SO COLD in those stone walls that I decided to head back to Santiago today. Last night’s concert and the quiet day there had given me all I needed.

As we passed Camino signs and pilgrims walking I was not in the slightest bit disappointed to be in a bus! Besides, it’s only a few days since I walked part of the very route we drove.

This Croatian guy was disappointed though…

…he had come to a standstill after pushing too hard on an injury…it reminded me how grateful I am to have found my own injury improving (although by the middle of the afternoon I will be wondering why my heel is sore enough to have me limping markedly – maybe another rest day is in order)

When we got to Santiago the rain stopped for a couple of hours, so I went to the cathedral to take the photo I usually take, but didn’t do the day I arrived due to the constant drizzle.

Then because I know GraphGuy is allergic to photos that are not straight, and as he could do with a little cheering up as he recovers from surgery, I took one for him:

As I was walking up Rúa San Pedro not really paying attention I became vaguely aware of someone standing in my way with his arms stretched up in the air like a capital Y. He didn’t look unlike this:

Indeed, it was him! The relationship with this Frenchman is perhaps the most unusual from this Camino; we have barely spoken to each other, but have a sense of connection. We met through a French lady, who would chatter away to me as if I understood – and bizarrely it turned out that I picked up quite a bit. One day I thought she was saying she wanted to hold a bed for her friend who was very ill and I helped explain this to the American volunteers when we arrived. It was a non-reservable place, but compassion prevailed. When the friend (that guy ^^ with the trailer) turned up, they even let him lie down immediately, hours before they usually would grant access to the beds (which you would think is the human thing to do, but doesn’t happen much). He slept all afternoon, emerged for dinner and shared his story through a young girl interpreting afterwards – basically he has been diagnosed with a terminal illness and wanted to show himself he was still alive by walking a Camino. What he has learnt was very moving. After breakfast the following morning, using GoogleTranslate, I told him about my wee writing project and asked if he would be willing to contribute to it what he had shared the previous evening. Oui oui oui, after he gets home he would love to. We bumped into each other a couple more times – both times in the pouring rain, so our exchanges were brief…but they felt authentic, genuine. And when Mr Frenchman arrived in Santiago he sent me that photo ^^.

Today’s upstretched arms turned into a warm embrace and finally a long conversation – it turns out he speaks pretty good English, so we didn’t need to have been speaking Spanish up to now!

I continued up the street to my destination…

….a great spot to watch pilgrims get their first glimpse of the cathedral towers on their last stretch before completion. Interestingly, I saw some who had hopped on the bus I was on this morning!

I heard my name being called…

This boyfriend-and-girlfriend were so keen to thank me. What for? I couldn’t remember doing anything for them, although our paths had crossed a fair bit while I was walking about 15km/day, as they were. We had chatted, but nothing out of the ordinary.

“So why do you want to say thank you?” I asked.

“For the inspiration”

“What do you mean?”

“After we saw you drawing, we realised we wanted to, too. When we got to Santiago we went to Pilgrim House and they had some art supplies available to use and so we sat and painted.”

They showed me their pictures – she really knows what she’s doing and for him it was a first try. He was apologetic that he “only did a plate of olives” so I pulled out my journal and found the page with ONE olive on it. That made him feel better! Full of enthusiasm, they then told me that they are planning another Camino and will each bring a little sketchbook. This was very satisfying for me, because it turns out I like to inspire and encourage, even when it’s done unknowingly.

It’s also satisfying when I don’t have to spend money on something I’ll only use once. So that means when in Santiago we go dumpster diving! I always need some cardboard to protect my poles on their homeward flight and we have always taken cheeses home so they need to be packed in something too. When I get back The Whole Family is going to be around, including the Exiled-in-Australia-Son, so we are going to make the most of that weekend – welcome home butter chicken and roti the night I get back and a Midwinter Christmas Celebration a couple of days later. Why am I telling you this? Because I’ve been voted to provide the cheeseboard.

And maybe for Micki:

I’m still on the lookout for a polystyrene box to keep the cheeses cool, but the cardboard was an easy find: